


this is the way the world turns

by Lilaciliraya



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Christmas, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Reid centric, Season/Series 07, Short, enjoy, idk - Freeform, kind of, way back from like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:31:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilaciliraya/pseuds/Lilaciliraya
Summary: When she leaves this time, he promises himself, he won’t cry.





	this is the way the world turns

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make this longer but

It’s Christmas in Reid’s apartment so there is silence. Then- soft, hesitant like it is somehow sentient, like it can sense the atmosphere of the place- a clock chimes. It is eight o'clock in the evening. Maybe now his neighbors are recovering from the early morning forced on them by the enthusiasm of their children, gathered around the fireplace warm and relaxed and happy, oozing holiday cheer to echo the crackle of burning wood, easy laughter bursting from red lips stained with mulled wine. 

In Reid’s apartment there is alcohol, too. And Reid’s barren spaces are tinged with heat where the whiskey burns on its way down, loud and insistent and passionate- the only thing in the room alight with life now that the clock has settled back into an easy hibernation until the next hour creeps up.

In Reid’s apartment there is a coldness- not of sensation but of sound- like when you step outside in the early morning after a night of snowfall and the frozen earth dampens any noises of summer, of carelessness, of the unintentional. It’s a private realization of another year past, a half-assed attempt to stop the endless march of arbitrary numbers- hey, look at this white, at this pure, at this deliberate stillness- hey, look and stay and live here, in this singular empty moment of time- look how beautiful a clean slate can be.

His glass twangs as he lowers it to the wooden table beside him and he is reminded of how much more like Christmas that is than a fireplace and a family and a loud event- a true Christmas, a ‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas’, a ‘silent night’, empty and cold and quiet and bright. Even Reid’s hands look white-blue like icicles under the harsh lighting of his apartment. He switched out every bulb for fluorescent versions and removed all of the covers on the fixtures; there are no pretenses here. 

He has been told that Christmas is a time for celebration and so this is how he celebrates. He has been told to leave and so he goes. This is where that leaves him.

The light disturbance of his breath is the only sound in Reid’s apartment for a string of minutes and then- sudden- a knock at the door. Jarring and out of place, here. A floorboard creaks as he shifts his weight in surprise, debating the merits of answering the call. He goes, footsteps leaving marks like footprints in the snow- little pockets of influence in a space that was filled with only him just seconds earlier. The door seems to glow with shadow in comparison to the sterile illumination of the room. He opens it, reveals light on the other side- too soft. Emily Prentiss is there and he regrets leaving his drink on the table, wishes for the security in having something better to do than stare.

“Yes?” Finally, he breaks the heady silence. 

She holds up a bottle of Jack Daniels and cocks an eyebrow. She wants in, and he obliges, stepping back from the door and turning, signaling for her to close the door behind her. 

When she leaves this time, he promises himself, he won’t cry.


End file.
